


Optioned

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22297669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Simon asks if he has a shot.
Relationships: Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 82





	Optioned

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s easy enough to find places to be alone in Jericho—dark, pure metal rooms with nothing in them but rust and decay. It’s such a far cry from the glamour Markus is used to. He doesn’t miss the creature comforts of Carl’s manor, but he definitely misses the _art_ : the sense of beauty and purpose. The floor creaks when he paces across it. He tries to think of what to do next, what’s the best move, what will yield the most results with the fewest casualties. He doesn’t want to lose _anyone_. Sometimes he tries to shut his eyes and picture Carl sitting next to him, giving him the advice he so desperate needs. 

The door scrapes slowly aside, and Markus straightens up, eyes fully open. A flashlight cuts through the darkness, then turns off when the half-broken porthole proves enough light. Simon steps through the opening. There’s a half second before the flashlight dies where it washes over him, and Markus sees his cream colour palette in its full glory. Markus still hasn’t had a real chance to _see_ his people outside of shadows and the night. Firelight isn’t enough. A part of him longs to see Simon’s golden hair bathed in pure sunlight. It seems like the sort of thing Carl might’ve painted. 

Simon strolls over to Markus and stops just before him. Simon’s mouth works open but says nothing, closes, then tries again. It takes Simon a few attempts to blurt: “John propositioned me.”

Something prickles along Markus’ spine. His first thought is _something’s wrong with him._ There’s no point running self-diagnostics anymore; too many things are broken. Once, Markus might’ve asked exactly what Simon meant, but now he can ascertain the meaning well enough. He asks stoically instead, “Why are you telling me?”

“Because I’m going to say yes, unless you give me a reason not to.”

Markus frowns. He can feel his blunt fingernails curling into his palms, something inexplicable snaking through him. It takes him too long to answer, “You don’t need my permission, Simon. We’re free here.”

“I know. But I’m saving myself, just in case I can have you instead.”

Markus’ jaw tightens. Simon bites the corner of his lip, which instantly draws Markus’ eye: such a small, insignificant gesture that gives him so much _life_. Simon’s nervousness is palpable, but he stands strong nonetheless. He murmurs, “I want to know if you’d be open to trying that. If not...” Simon swallows, though their saliva’s regulated. “I do want to feel something before the end. We’re in dangerous waters now, and we could be raided or killed at any moment, and I don’t want to be _alone_ —” Simon cuts himself off. Markus fully understands. Bizarrely, he ponders his own mortality all the time. 

He switches tracks, instead pondering _Simon_. What it would be like to see Simon with someone else. Holding John. _Kissing_ John. Making love, the way humans used to do in Carl’s private paintings. He always made it look so beautiful. 

Simon’s beautiful. Objectively, Markus knows that. He would make a good model, posing bare, and maybe Markus would like to bend him into different shapes and push him up against different backgrounds, drape him across wrinkled sheets. But Markus feels obligated to admit, “I don’t know how to do that. I’m not...” He searches for the right words. He’s not a Traci, but that’s not even it. “I’m not designed for relationships.”

Simon shrugs helplessly. “I’m not either. I’m just a housekeeper.” He smiles hopefully anyway and mutters, “I want to try.”

Maybe Markus does too. He runs his processors through a thousand different scenarios, how their relationship could progress platonically and romantically, _sexually_ , all the little nuances in between, and before he knows what he’s doing, his hand’s lifted to Simon’s cheek. 

He cups Simon gently and leans forward, brushing their mouths together. Simon’s lips part just enough for Markus to taste his nonexistent breath. It lingers far longer than Markus means it to.

When they pull apart again, Markus decides, “Wait for me.” He doesn’t know if he means wait for him to understand his own feelings or wait for the revolution to be over. Simon doesn’t ask. He looks at Markus like he’d wait for an eternity if it meant they could be together in the next one. 

Simon kisses Markus’ cheek. Then he backs away and leaves Markus to think, though Jericho’s become second on Markus’ mind.


End file.
